


Our Monuments//Our Moments

by feathershollyandgolly, IreneADonovan



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Angst, Beach Divorce, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Charles Always Says the Absolute Worst Thing He Could Possibly Say, Erik Lehnsherr is not a Happy Bunny, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Vignette, im not sorry?, it's all very sad, some outsiders perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 02:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20250895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathershollyandgolly/pseuds/feathershollyandgolly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan
Summary: There were monuments, cold to the touch yet burning against his skin. There were moments, warm to the touch yet instilling a chill deep in his bones.There was always Charles, and that explained it all, didn't it?





	Our Monuments//Our Moments

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT (February, 2020): Initially it was suppose to be 4 chapters, each one covering a movie, but after months of slogging away I realized that I couldn't bring myself to finish it! However, I absolutely adored working on this fic, as well as joining a big bang for the first time, and I'm proud with what I ended up producing! (I'll definitely uh,,,write something less ambitious next time). 
> 
> Thanks to the amazing IreneADonovan who did the lovely collages for this fic and put up with my constant editing and "oh I'll finish it!" *doesnt finish it* attitude. (@Irene If there is any more art you have for this fic feel free to post it! I don't want your hard work to go to waste!)
> 
> Also I'm definitely going back and polishing, one day. Otherwise, it's done.
> 
> Tl;dr: Enjoy First Class, but from Erik's perspective.
> 
> -fgh

The second Erik tethered himself, the current dragged him under. 

He struggled, anchored to the weight of the submarine rattling across the bay. Pulling at the rage that curled, burning under his skin. The building roar that had been waiting for almost as long as he could remember. 

Hands shaking, Erik closed his eyes. He gripped at the metal. He pulled. 

This was for his mother. This was for his people. This was for him. To defeat an evil gone so long without the hand of justice to keep it in check. Shaw was the shadow that trailed him since his youth. The final piece.

Something crashed through the water, bubbles rising in a flurry. 

Even as the air seeped from his lungs and the current dragged him under, Erik held on.

_“You can’t. You’ll drown,_” a voice echoed, sharp despite its impossibility. “_You have to let go._”

Was it god, who was speaking to him? It couldn’t be. He had stopped believing in god a long time ago. 

_“I know what this means to you,_” the voice insisted, “_but you’re going to die._”

_ Not before Shaw. _ Even as Erik thought this he could feel desperate arms wrapping around him, warm despite the frigid water. It couldn’t end like this.

_ “Please, Erik.” _

The use of his name startled him into loosening his grip.

_ “Calm your mind.” _

The lights of the submarine faded as his strength waned. Erik attempted to seize forward. A steady hold pulled him back to the surface, away from the scornful bait. He was the monster, ready to kill his creator. This was a sign, a symbol of hope asking him to _live. _

They breached. The tide crashed into him, suddenly frigid in the faint autumn warmth. Erik gasped for air. He could see the stars.

“Get off me!” He pushed at the force that had pulled him up. It wasn’t a miracle. It was a man. Erik felt cold seize up in him as the man let go. He shoved anyway. “Get. Off.”

“Calm down, just breathe,” the man soothed over the roar of the waves. He turned to face an incoming ship, calling out over the waves.

Erik tried to steady himself. His heartbeat pounded against his skull as the ocean tried to drag him under once more. “Who are you?” 

“My name is Charles Xavier.” 

An ally of Shaw’s? No. Too concerned. Too compassionate. Erik attempted to squint through the darkness. The man kind of looked like a Charles Xavier.

“You were in my head,” Erik blinked away the spraying ocean, “how did you do that?”

“You have your tricks, I have mine,” exclaims Charles. “I’m like you, just calm your mind!” 

_ I’m like you. _ No one had ever been like Erik. Not even Shaw. He stared at the man, lost in the moment and filled with an overwhelming sense of somethingness where there was nothingness previously. They knew each other in ways he couldn’t put into words. Charles understood_. _

“I thought I was alone.” Erik coughed up water as it ripped at his throat. His voice was raw. 

“You’re not alone,” Charles smiled slightly. His eyes were an electrifying blue. “Erik, you’re not alone.”

And Erik hadn't realized it at the moment, but from here, Charles was the catalyst. The eye-opener that revealed a life that Erik never thought could be his. The larger scale. Mutants. Camaraderie. War and peace.

Erik looked to the sky. From the brink of death came the resolute grip of hope. The stars shone overhead. 

* * *

Coming with Charles was a mistake. Erik should have known it the second he heard that the government was involved. He had no time for the CIA, and he certainly had no time to wait for the government to pull strings behind his back. 

He strode through a maze of slate-colored hallways, his footsteps echoing across the concrete floor.

The facility was more like a mausoleum, he thought humorlessly.

The smaller side of his mind whispered something. Something he had known when he stepped into the water the night before.

_ I should have drowned. _

Rather, he could have had he not been convinced otherwise. One move saved his life. It was something that could have ended in thousands of other ways, and with his life teetering against the whim of one person he couldn’t help but feel out of control.

He still wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or not. The CIA headquarters wasn’t much of a home.

He crossed a hallway intersection where the air-conditioner blew uncomfortably frigid air down the back of his neck. 

“What are you doing?” 

Someone stood across the hallway, staring at him. Ah. Charles. Erik narrowed his eyes. It was awfully late for Charles to be strutting around. 

“Going to the gym.” Erik felt the lie fall from his lips without thinking. 

“Gym’s that way,” Charles noted, pointing to the direction Erik had come from. He didn’t need to use his telepathy to see right through him.

Erik furrowed his brow, deflecting, “Where are _ you _ going?” 

“Just going to make a cup of tea.” Liar.

“But the kitchen’s that way.” Erik pointed in the opposite direction.

Charles was looking at Erik but his mind was elsewhere, occupied with something Erik didn’t care to figure out. He was clearly busy. Erik didn’t want to be the pot calling kettle. 

“Right,” said Charles stiffly. 

“Right.” 

They split ways, perhaps for the final time. Erik couldn’t help but feel a small hint of regret. There was a connection between them. A mental bond that began at sea and extended into the far reaches of Erik’s mind. He barely knew the man, yet he could remember the clarity of his voice vividly. 

Charles was always in his head, even when he wasn’t. 

Erik peered into each room down the hallway, most of them filled with cubicles for basic workers. He found a room that hosted a single desk. Perfect. He unlocked the door with ease and slipped inside. 

With the briefcase set down, he pulled the drawers open with a flick of his hand and scoured their contents. Most of them were useless. Soviets and people of interest. The name finally caught his eye. _ Shaw, Sebastian. _Under the dim light of the desk lamp, Erik pulled the file quietly from the drawer. 

A noise echoed through the hallway. He jolted and looked up, searching for a source. No one. He checked the file once more. He secured it inside the briefcase, his heart pounding. 

As he exited the office, he took a final look at the sliver of a world that could never be his. He worked alone, not with governments and teams. He stared down the corridor that he had walked down earlier. His mind drifted to Charles and their stilted exchange. 

If Erik was bothered to think about it, Charles seemed as though he, too, was struggling to save face. If he was bothered to think about it, he would have wondered where Charles was actually going. _ Moira. _That was the most likely candidate. The thought made him bitter. Of course he was going to allow a human to distract him, even when they had work to do. 

Charles was not perfect. He was naive. Gentle. Focused on saving as much as he could, even when he didn’t need to. Erik couldn’t tell if it was endearing or not. 

It was a shame that he probably wouldn’t see him again.

Erik pushed through the front door. He had more important things to worry about than a man he had just met. He gripped the briefcase handle, leather to the calluses on his skin. The stars were visible from where he stood. A chill breeze stirred from between the trees. 

In just a few moments, he would be gone.

“From what I know about you,” a voice called from behind him. “I’m surprised you’ve managed to stay this long.”

Erik swiveled to face the source, but he already knew who it was. No one had focused on Erik the way Charles did.

“What do you know about me?” Erik growled.

“Everything,” said Charles. He seemed to mean it. 

“Then you know to stay out of my head,” Erik replied, looking away. He _did _ mean it.

His thoughts were his, and if anyone wanted to steal them he would have nothing. He stepped forward. Charles stepped forward as well.

“I’m sorry, Erik," Charles called, "but I’ve seen what Shaw did to you.” 

Erik froze. It was too much. Too intimate for a stranger to know the kind of things that woke him in a cold sweat. To know the burning in his veins as he used his abilities to rip apart the ones that created him. 

“I can help you,” continued Charles.

“I don’t need your help,” Erik managed to grate out, turning back around. Facing Charles was so much worse than turning away from him. Bright blue eyes stared right through him, filled with disappointment. 

“Don’t kid yourself, you needed my help last night.”

In a sickening way, Charles was right. Erik had drowned himself in rage, overcome with grief and determination that would have gotten him killed. The night, he had never felt more alone. _ You’re not alone. _He didn’t need Charles, but for the first time in a while, he felt wanted. He felt connected to something. 

“It’s not just me you’re walking away from,” said Charles, walking closer. “Here you have the chance to be a part of something much bigger than yourself.”

If he was successful in his mission with the aid of the CIA, those like himself and Charles would be more welcome to the world. No one would have to face what Erik had faced so many years ago. 

“I won’t stop you leaving.” Charles’ voice was gentle, a hidden sternness seeping into his reassurance. “I could, but I won’t.”

Erik remained silent, watching as Charles backed away and began to walk inside. A million thoughts ran through his mind at once. It was almost a threat. Something that conveyed just how much Erik had underestimated him. 

“Shaw’s got friends,” called Charles. “You could do with some.”

A life chasing after his creator had assured that any connection he tried to hold would be lost, and here he would lose another one. Charles’ words echoed through his head long after he had left, and this time it wasn’t any sort of trick. Perhaps he was right. 

Having someone by his side would be nice.

* * *

Sunlight flooded onto smooth, gray walls. Even after two days, Erik could assume that it was always cold inside the CIA headquarters. Cold and empty. Room after room after room and he still couldn’t find who he was looking for. He was hesitant to even come back, let alone see Charles’ annoying smirk when he arrived. Even so, a rush of new emotions had met him the night before, pulling him back into orbit.

A soft, sure voice echoed through the hallways, directly from the last office in the corridor. _ Charles. _Erik followed the sound with delibrance. Another voice replied, garbled by the distance. As he drew closer, Erik could only pick up a little of what was being said. 

“...enhance your telepathic powers, help us find other mutants for our division,” finished the division director. 

“What if they don’t want to be found by you?” Erik demurred. 

He stood in the doorway, facing the two men inside. A million thoughts ran through his mind as they turned their attention to him. There was a combination of fear and excitement rising under his skin. He was afraid of what would come next, whether what Charles said about having others by his side was true or not. 

A small part of him knew he wasn’t an excellent fit for companionship. A larger part of him knew that he would be vastly disappointing even if he was alright.

“Erik,” Charles exclaimed, brightening. “You decided to stay.”

_ I knew it_, the glint in his eyes seemed to say. Charles didn’t seem unsurprised, but he was delighted anyway. He could have stopped him from leaving whenever he wanted to, but he left the decision free.

It was sweet in a way Erik couldn’t wrap his head around. Instead, he sent Charles a knowing glance before turning to the director of their division.

“If a new species is being discovered, it should be by its own kind,” said Erik. “Charles and I find the mutants. No suits.”

“First of all, that’s my machine out there,” the director protested.

Erik still didn’t know his name, or rather, remember.

“Second of all,” the director continued, “and much more importantly, this is Charles’ decision. Charles is fine with the CIA being involved, isn’t that right?”

As Erik searched for Charles’ next move, Charles looked to him. Their mental connection sparked something, an impression far beyond what a simple look could communicate. An impression beyond words. 

“No. I’m sorry, but,” Charles started, still looking to Erik with his striking blue gaze. He turned back to the director. “I’m with Erik. We’ll find them alone.”

He knew what Erik must have felt. He seemed to understand, and to Erik’s surprise, agree. 

“What if I say no?” asked the director, leaning forward in his chair and narrowing his eyes. 

Charles raised his eyebrows. “Then good luck using that machine without me.”

Charles certainly wasn’t hiding his smug expression. Though his look of self-importance was usually annoying, it was growing on Erik. He almost felt amused by the exchange. There was something exciting about that sense of rebellion, the confidence in their joint beliefs against an oppressive entity. 

Erik fought the urge to smile. Charles was taking his side. It was a surprisingly powerful feeling. 

* * *

He climbed the steps to Hank’s machine, glancing around with a wary clutch at the handrail. He had been in contraptions similar. He could feel the structure him around him down to the frame, metal calling his grip. He let go. 

Hank said something about brains and Charles said something about Spanish. Erik, however, was focused on the helmet sitting in the center of the room. Wires strung from the ceiling, tangled and all running towards the monument in the center. He felt a chill run through him. He remembered what Shaw had done. The cold of the machines. The restraints. 

He watched Charles put on the helmet.

“What an adorable lab rat you make, Charles,” he teased, distracting from his cluttered thoughts. 

“Don’t spoil this for me, Erik,” Charles replied shortly.

He was humoring him, if only it were a joke. If it were up to Erik, there would be a thousand better ways to find mutants, even if it cost a machine like this. Tapping into power under the eyes of a powerful government agency made his skin crawl. 

“I’ve been a lab rat once,” replied Erik. “I know one when I see one.”

As Charles readied himself, Erik could only hope that he was alright. That he was comfortable. Hank busied at the mechanisms, flipping switches and muttering to himself. It was all too familiar. Raven seemed just as nervous about the ordeal, swaying back and forth and staring at the wires cautiously. At least Erik wasn’t the only one worried.

“Are you sure we can’t shave your head?” asked Hank, creeping up to Charles one last time.

“Don’t touch my hair.”

Charles turned to look at Erik. Despite all the banter earlier, he seemed to know exactly what Erik had meant underneath it all.

_ You’re alright with this, right? _ A question left unspoken, even mentally.

Charles sent back an understanding glance. _ I’ll be fine, don’t worry_.

Charles closed his eyes, no, he squeezed them shut. He was prepared for anything. Erik envied his bold nature at times.

Cerebro activated with a whirr, light flooding the room. A glow emanated from the headpiece, radiating outward as the machine buzzed and roared. Hank twisted the final dial. The air crackled. Shadows fell upon the edges of the room as the center grew brighter. A whirlwind rushed past them. Erik shivered.

Charles let out a shout. 

Cerebro was failing. It must have been. All the warnings had been glaringly obvious yet Charles’ comforting words had stopped Erik from realizing just how dangerous it was. He had to stop himself from rushing forward. From getting Charles out of there. As far as he knew, it would only make things worse. Raven watched on, petrified. 

But then, as soon as it began, it was over. Wide eyes had relaxed. The shout had faded into the scream of metal singing in chorus throughout the cavernous room. In fact, Charles wasn’t crying out anymore, even as hands shook, clung to the railing.

The corners of Charles’ lips were beginning to turn up. He was beginning to smile. 

“It’s working,” announced Hank, grinning. 

Charles laughed. The glee in his eyes overtook the initial wave of panic Erik had felt. In that moment, it was going to be alright. They would find those mutants. They would stop Shaw. Raven began to jump around excitedly. 

Erik almost felt like grinning himself. Almost.

* * *

_ Angel _

The smoke-filled room sent rays of light cascading down the bar. The thrum of some fast-paced song echoed around her. Angel curled downward. My, _ my. _While considerably creepy, that was a pretty big wad of cash. She stared at the man who had handed it to her, probably in his early thirties. She held up her best attempt at a smirk.

“For that, Daddy-o, you get a private dance,” she purred.

She probably should have seen it as weird when the man took a glance towards his companion and the two grinned. They were whispering to each other, she just couldn’t hear it. It was never aloud, anyway. The way that they looked at each other said everything.

Angel was starting to wonder what she had gotten herself into. 

She led the man and his companion, who insisted that he come as well, to one of the private rooms. The two had set themselves up comfortably on the bed, sipping champagne and simply _watching _her. It wasn’t even sexual, but it was just as uncomfortable as everything else. They were sizing something up, she just didn’t know why. The pounding beat of the music was quieted, leaving room for the insufferable quiet that followed. 

“You cats know it’s double for both, right?” Angel finally said, breaking the silence. 

The idea sent a tug of disgust through her. Ough. Maybe they were into that sort of thing. She had to deal with a lot of different types of people walking into the club, including those close-friend types that didn’t mind watching together. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

“That won’t be necessary, though I’m sure it would be magical,” started the shorter man with the round eyes. Despite his confidence, he seemed like he was bad at talking. Awkward, in an almost sweet way. 

“We were thinking,” the taller man interrupted, “we could show you ours...if you show us yours.”

No. Scratch the first part. They were just plain stupid. They were stupid, and they were wasting Angel’s time. The especially smug look on the taller man’s face got on her nerves. 

She laughed. “Baby, that is _ not _ how the way it works around here.”

Angel was ready to leave, taking the cash with her. The two men clearly had no idea what was going on. As they sat and watched her, all she could do was stand and _be _stared at. It was in the job description, to be fair. She just didn’t expect everything to turn out like this. She gave them one last look, narrowing her eyes. Then the tall man snapped his fingers. Then the champagne bucket flew upward into his hand.

By some miracle, Angel managed not to lose her shit.

“More tea, Vicar?” the tall man asked smoothly.

Angel gaped. What the hell was that? The night must have been getting to her. Or maybe it was drugs. Drugs? Definitely drugs. The way the men looked at each other was making her suspect that they didn’t post any threat, after all.

“Don’t mind if I do,” the shorter man replied, sounding way too pleased with himself. It was as though he was in on a secret, rather than another serving of alcohol.

_ We get it. You’re not interested in me in that way. _Angel was too preoccupied with the whole floating objects thing to care.

The champagne was poured and all she could do was gape. Angel had never seen anyone with an ability like that. It was possible that they were like her. The bucket floated back, gliding through the air with a mind of its own. It was now or never. 

Revealing herself could mean trouble, but the men were also _like her. _They would understand what she had been through. They seemed way more...occupied with each other than they were with her, which was a first. Things could be looking up, really.

“Alright,” she said, finally making up her mind. “My turn.”

Angel unclasped her bra and spread her wings for the first time in a while. Their shining, thin form rustled as they uncurled in the dim glow. She shook them out. They picked up speed, humming like a dragonfly and moving seamlessly through the air. Then, ever so slowly, she pulled herself off of the ground. 

She watched triumphantly as the two men’s eyes widened.

The shorter man (British, now that she was thinking about it), stared at her in awe and fascination. The taller one raised his eyebrows, impressed, probably. She grinned. The tall man turned to his companion. They shared a look again, similar to the one at the bar.

“How would you like a job where you get to keep your clothes on?” 

She accepted, of course. 

* * *

_ Maureen _

Maureen was a suitable age, she supposed. She survived the depression, survived the second world war. She remembered having to crawl among the lowest dredges of society for money. She remembered the fall of the stock market when she was only nineteen. Being in her fifties was just another one of those times. 

After all those years of living, she could recognize a lot of things. She took things as they came, and at that point, was at a very accepting stage of her life. She ran a diner. All sorts of people came through. 

It didn’t surprise her when two gentlemen sat down together, chatting like old friends. It wasn’t new to see them complaining lightheartedly about the other when ordering or eat together comfortably, laughing at a joke the other said. It was normal, even when they argued over the bill that was too cheap to really matter. 

It would have seemed like any other friendship if it weren’t for the way they looked at each other. The way they sent subtle smiles and brief touches hidden away from public scrutiny. They had an indescribable fondness about them. Something that said numbers without ever speaking. 

She hated to stare, not when they were so intimate. Not when their conversation was not meant for prying eyes. It was beautiful. It was tender. It was illegal. 

That was what filled her with dread the most. 

There were stories, all the time. Of arrests. Secret bars run out by police because of the types of people they attracted. Of crude murders done in the name of God. That wasn’t to mention the words she heard every day, from those walking into the diner to those on the street. Maureen was a tolerant woman. The world was not. It was 1962. The world wasn’t quite ready.

She rushed over to them again after ringing up their bill. They had paid her far too much.

“Dear, you paid me three more than your meal,” she said. It was enough for two more meals.

“Oh, that’s alright,” the one with a posh sort-of accent replied. “Consider it a tip.”

The serious-looking one with the stern brow was watching with exasperated amusement. Maureen was never married, but she could tell by the way the two men moved, the way they spoke, that they must have truly loved each other. 

The sweet man handed her a _ five _of all things. “I insist.” 

She tentatively accepted, pulling the money away as the man’s fingertips brushed past her own. He sent her a saddened smile. 

She could have been wrong. Perhaps the two men were just close friends. It was probably true. No, it must have been. The spark of the thought had blossomed in her mind from who-knows-where. 

She briefly wondered how the thought occurred to her. 

* * *

_ Logan _

Logan sipped his whiskey and stared blankly across the bar. He could smell two men walking in from where he sat. One had a sort of clean, bookish smell. The other reeked of iron, though perhaps not blood. He didn’t know. He wouldn’t have cared if it weren’t for the men approaching him. They didn’t walk like government from what he could hear, but they sure had the intentions. 

Logan was tired of the American government.

“Excuse me, I’m Erik Lehnsherr,” said the metallic-scented man to his left.

“Charles Xavier,” said the posh man to his right.

They both smelled like danger. They both kind of smelled similar, now that Logan thought about it. They must have been hanging around long enough to smell just a bit like the other. Like a pack. Logan, on the other hand, was not into that sort of thing. A pack. A group of closely-knit companions fighting for survival together. Logan preferred being alone. 

“Go fuck yourself,” grumbled Logan. 

The two men looked at each other, turned around, and walk away. It bothered Logan, how simple the exchange was. Perhaps they’d send their real troops after him later. 

Logan stuck the cigar he was holding back in his mouth. That was kind of weird.

* * *

_ Charles _

Charles stared at the basin as it shimmered against the light. He felt warmth rise in his chest. Fluffy orange clouds reflected in the water. The setting sun glowed a fiery pink against the pillars of the Lincoln memorial. It was stunning. 

“I can’t stop thinking about the others out there,” Charles mused. He moved his bishop. “All those minds that I touched. I could feel them...”

Cerebro had sent an electrifying current through him, a moment of pure awe. The realization of just how many others there were was galvanizing. He could see the future stretched out in front of him. The future of mutants, a place where they could feel welcome and safe. He hoped that one day all mutants would know that they were not alone. 

“...their isolation, their hopes, their ambitions.”

Charles couldn’t help but grin. He looked towards Erik. 

_ Erik_. He carried so much hope with him. He had fought through everything just to be there, in a moment of serenity. It was admirable. He was determined, regal, and yet with all of his rage, there was a center of something good. Something beautiful. It felt as though time was slipping away from them. The days were counting down until Shaw struck again. 

Sometimes, Charles wished that they had more time.

“I tell you,” Charles continued. “We are at the start of something _incredible, _Erik. We can help them.” 

“Can we?” Erik muttered. “Identification. That’s how it starts. And ends with being rounded up, experimented on, eliminated.”

Erik looked intense, his fury hidden behind cool eyes and squared shoulders. His mind was crowded, and Charles didn’t even have to read it to know that. He seemed conflicted, trying to be hopeful. Still cynical, as always.

“Not this time,” Charles insisted. “We have common enemies. Shaw, the Russians. They need us.”

Simply because history could repeat itself doesn’t mean it would. They had to learn from history. They had to grow. Collaborate. 

And when it came down to it, even if everyone turned, Charles had Erik, and Erik had Charles. It was like that from the beginning. It was them against the world, fighting to bring the world back together. 

“For now,” replied Erik, disgruntled.

There was a world ahead of them, and all Erik could do was look back. He seemed so alone, even when he wasn’t. If there was one thing Charles hoped he could provide for him, it was hope. 

Charles moved his knight. 

Erik pushed his queen forward. Check. 

* * *

The truck rattled and shook across the gravel road, kicking up rocks and earth in its path. They were surrounded by miles of evergreens, their dew-covered branches shining in the afternoon sunlight. The inside of the car wasn’t nearly as pleasant. 

After sitting for several hours, Erik’s legs were beginning to cramp. He was surrounded by hardened soldiers, their guns sitting by their sides, ready, and their eyes directing forwards into nowhere. At least he was next to Charles, who was warm and tried his best to keep a quiet conversation going on their journey. It was endearing. They were going to face up against Shaw, and there wasn’t much time to talk, but Erik still found his spirits raised.

There was a knock at the wood panel behind him. He turned around and it slid open.

“We got a problem,” said their driver, another nameless agent that Erik didn’t bother to know.

“What?” asked Erik. He stared forward as a checkpoint came into view. Guards. Guns. 

“I’m so sorry,” Moira exclaimed. “This wasn’t on the map.”

“Whatever happens, I’ll take care of this, alright?” Charles assured.

Erik almost felt annoyed at MacTaggert for not predicting a checkpoint. Moira said nothing, only nodding as the wooden panel drew closed. Charles turned around to face everyone. There was a glint of something in his eyes. An idea. Erik watched on, curious.

“Alright, listen to me. When they open those doors, stay vigilant, but do not make a sound,” Charles commanded. “Try not to move.”

Would Charles knock the guards out? Erik was prepared to take the closest source of metal and make quick work of it all. He knew better than to try it. Making a scene would only draw attention to the CIA and their mission, and besides that, Charles despised violence. He must have had a better plan. 

They approached the checkpoint, staring forward at the doors as though they’d open at any second. If they were caught in the middle of Russia while the Cold War raged on, anything could happen. All their progress would be lost. It could be a declaration of war, in some cases. 

The vehicle had stopped. 

There was a knock at the driver’s door. A dog barked as one of the guards at the gate asked to inspect the vehicle. Erik couldn’t discern the conversation exactly, but he could sense footsteps approaching the back of the vehicle. A shiver ran down his spine. 

As the footsteps became louder, the soldiers rose, and with them, Charles. 

“Easy, easy. Take it easy, chaps,” Charles said gently.

He put a hand to his temple, using the other to hold the ceiling and balance himself. The doors swung open and Erik was greeted with a guard staring right back at him. The compartment remained absolutely silent, American guns drawn and pointed right at the guard with no reaction. The guard narrowed his eyes. The dog barked. He frowned. He raised his gun. 

"_There’s nothing here,_” he said, Russian curt and professional.

The door closed. Charles was a genius. 

Relief flooded the compartment as everyone put their guns down and nodded to Charles in gratitude. Charles sat down, pulling his hand away from his temple and wiping the sweat off his brow. He cracked a smile. He must have been exhausted. It didn’t stop him from laughing, tired yet successful. 

Erik was still staring at Charles, even after the truck began to move again. It was breathtaking. Charles was growing stronger since they had met, but this was something Erik had never seen before. It made him feel giddy to see his friend accomplish something so impressive.

In their victory, he wanted to kiss him. Do something, to express the excitement.

Erik pat him on the leg.

* * *

Patience seemed like the key to finding Shaw, if only they had time for it. Erik glared through his binoculars, staring at the front of the Russian Military Retreat. Staring at the barbed wire curving around the premises and the soldiers marching to and fro. The helicopter had touched down with blades howling in the cold air, blowing gusts through the trees around them. Erik watched as the door slid open and felt the blades stop spinning. Stepping out was none other than the White Queen. 

Emma Frost.

“Where’s Shaw?” Erik grumbled. He was used to simply being right next to Charles. Moira wasn’t the most welcome presence.

“I don’t know, but if she’s a telepath she’ll know we were here,” Charles replied. He shifted, doing the typical hand gesture he used for his mutation. “I’ll try something else.”

Charles squeezed his eyes shut. For a moment there was silence. Erik watched Emma lean close to the Russian Senior Officer. She held no sincerity in her body language, straight and professional besides the swing of her hips as she inched closer to the officer. She was planning something. One of the soldiers turned, straining to hear the conversation. 

Charles must have been reading his mind from meters away. Compared to Emma, he was infinitely more powerful. Unlike Emma, he was trustworthy. Kind. Hearing Emma’s voice that night on the boat was like falling into the sea. He had drowned in the sharp scream of his own memories. 

Speaking to Charles was warm, a caress against his mind full of compassion and respect. 

Charles opened his eyes and shook his head. “He’s not coming.”

_ Not coming? _Erik snapped back into reality. He frowned. The others would want to give up, but the mission had to be for something. The coin was burning a hole in his pocket, heavy and smooth. He had bid his time for far too long.

“So what now, boss?” Charles turned to Moira.

“Now nothing,” replied Moira. “We’re here for Shaw. Mission aborted.”

There must have been something strategically important about the mission, otherwise, Frost wouldn’t be there at all. Emma was one of the most important people at Shaw’s side. Regal. Indestructible diamond. She would know everything about Shaw’s plan.

_ Shaw has a telepath. _ Thought Erik. He glanced over to Charles. _ I have a telepath too. _

“The hell it is,” said Erik, sitting up and pulling his binoculars off. 

“Erik,” Moira hissed. 

He pointed at the building ahead. “She’s his right-hand woman. That’s good enough for me.”

“The CIA invading the home of a senior Soviet official?” Moira protested. “Are you crazy?”

Perhaps a little bit. Erik smirked. “I’m not CIA.”

“Erik!” Charles called to him, reaching a hand out. 

Erik brushed past his reach. If Moira wasn’t in between them, it would have been easier to stop him. It was too bad, really. 

He sprinted forward, feeling the metal in the distance. He could sense each of the soldiers’ guns and every single bullet in their pockets. Roots and earth caught beneath his feet. Spindly branches trembled around him. The cutting chill of Siberian air rushed past his ears. He reached out, twisting barbed wire with ease and wrapping it around his enemies. Lifting them off the ground. 

The gate opened. He felt unstoppable.

Guards shouted and charged at him with equal fury in their eyes. Too many men taking orders. Not knowing the inner dealings of the puppeteers orchestrating destruction before them. Erik dragged their guns forward until they fell. He swung his leg forward, kicking them down. 

He was running so fast that he was flying, breathless and determined. The front doors parted. A shout followed him as he walked inside. Charles.

_ My friend, do not try to stop me, _ he thought in return. 

Whether Charles heard or not barely mattered. Not when he ran through that maze of darkened halls and twisted each knob. Not when he was flinging them open, in search of his target. Not when Emma was right there, within his reach. All the information he needed. All the leverage he needed. 

There was a displacement in the air around him. 

More weapons, more guards, all foolish to think that they could gain the upper hand. He rounded the corner to see two men staring back at him, guns raised. Shaking. Erik reached his hands out, feeling the mechanisms within the firearms. He pulled. Piece by piece, the machines dismantled in a series of metallic clicks. Ammunition fell against the ground. The guards were shoved backward. 

The guard to his right lifted his gun once more. Erik slammed it into the man’s jaw. 

The hall was suddenly quiet. Erik stared at the door ahead, a mahogany carved barrier between him and his goal. The entryway loomed over him. That must have been where Frost was. As he approached, feet flat and quiet against the carpet, the collection of sounds from inside were easier and easier to hear. 

There was talking. Erik knew a bit of Russian, but even then, most of the conversation he overheard made no sense. It seemed as though other...things were happening. 

He heard something else, not sourced from the door in front of him but from behind. No metal. 

_ Erik! _A voice echoed in his mind. Erik twisted around to see Charles, out of breath and flushed, staring back at him. He had run after him. It was warming. Erik gestured towards the door. Charles looked resigned. 

“After you,” Erik said.

“How about we enter together?” Charles suggested. 

Erik nodded in agreement. Side by side. If he had felt powerful earlier, the feeling increased tenfold simply with Charles standing with him. They could do so much alone, but they didn’t _have to _be alone. Erik found himself wanting Charles to come along after all. 

They stormed through the door. 

They both recoiled in confusion.

The senior officer was engaged in what seemed like fondling air. Emma sat in a chair beside the bed, watching the man with narrowed eyes. She must have been making him see something. 

“Nice trick,” said Charles.

After hearing another voice, the soviet officer stopped, catching sight of the two men that had barged in. His eyes widened. His hands lowered. The illusion broke.

“_Who are you?” _asked the officer. He whipped his head around to see Emma, sitting near him. He grabbed for his gun. Erik held a hand out, cautioned. He was ready to pull the weapon away. 

“Go to sleep!” barked Charles, holding a hand up before Erik could try.

The officer fell backward, unconscious. The three of them were essentially alone, no CIA, no guards.

Emma Frost stood, facing the two men. Her skin shifted in the light, gleaming and refracting the light around them in hundreds of colors. Erik remembered the sharp ring in his ears, the piercing force striking his mind when Emma had invaded it. Dread sank into his skin. Perhaps he had underestimated her. 

Charles, with his hand still at his temple, winced. He stepped back.

“You can stop trying to read my mind, sweetheart,” Emma said. “You’re never going to get anything from me while I’m like this.”

Erik glanced at Charles, who looked back. They nodded. Together. There was one exit to the room aside from the window, and they stood in front of it. They were ready. Emma stepped forward, angling her body toward the door. She ran.

Erik and Charles rushed to meet her.

Grabbing Emma’s arms, the two heaved her towards the bed frame. She slammed against the metal as it twisted around her arms. Erik tightened his grip. She was trapped.

“So then you can just tell us,” Erik growled. “Where’s Shaw?”

No response. Emma’s gaze bore into him, eyes an icy blue fury. Erik strained against the pure diamond. It was almost impossible to crack like this. He wrapped the frame around her neck. 

“Erik,” Charles warned.

The bedframe shuddered, collapsing inward, twining around Emma’s waist. Around her arms.

“Erik, that’s enough.” Charles’ voice wavered. 

He reached for Erik, as though to touch him. He didn’t. Erik knew her better than Charles. He knew when she would give up.

“Erik, that’s enough!” Charles’ firm protest became a resolute one.

The diamond was cracking. It sounded like glass, shattering repeatedly, delicate, _ weak. _

No.

Erik lowered his arm. It wasn’t worth it to kill her. 

“She’s all yours. She won’t be shifting into diamond form again.” He stepped away. “And if she does, just give her a gentle tap.”

_ Erik, _Charles projected.

_ I wouldn’t have killed her, _ Erik assured, sitting down and pouring himself a drink. He observed. The alcohol burned at his throat.

_ I know. _ Charles looked to him and nodded. _ I hoped you wouldn’t. _

Emma’s shimmering form shifted back into skin, seething and trembling all at once. She glared upward, defiant even when trapped like an animal.

There was a rueful smile in her eyes.

Charles gestured, signaling his telepathy. He was not staring at Emma, he was staring _through _her. The determination vanished as Charles’ eyes widened. She could have been saying anything about Shaw’s plans, twisting the truth or worse visualizing it in vivid, horrific detail. Erik hated not knowing.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Emma crooned.

Erik had never seen him so disturbed. Dread curled like a pit in his stomach. Charles swallowed hard. He turned to Erik slowly.

“It’s worse than we previously imagined.”

The CIA burst through the door. Erik was too wrapped up in what Charles was showing him to care. He could see it all in front of him. The destruction and ultimate megalomania that Shaw carried under his words was coming to pass. 

It was no small resistance. It was the end of the world. 

* * *

The metal resonated. Bullets. Chambers. The moving safety as it clicked.

“You’re sure?” Charles’ voice was gentle, tentative.

“I’m sure.” Erik’s was firm, resolute.

The cool of the gun pressed against his skull, greeting him like an old friend. He grinned, open and trusting in a way he hadn’t known for years. 

“Alright.” 

Charles squeezed his eyes shut, hand shaking. Anticipation. Fingers on the trigger. Erik braced for the movement, concentration sharp as the hum grew louder. 

_ Ready. Set. _

The gun lowered. “No.” 

_ No? _

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” Charles shook his head. “I can’t shoot anyone at point-blank, let alone my friend.”

“Oh come on,” Erik lifted the gun back up to his skull, “you know I can deflect it. You always told me I should push myself.”

It must have been the wrong thing to say. Charles’ expression shifted. His face was flushed from hard work, from stress, from this. He almost sounded angry.

“If you _ know _you can deflect it, then you’re not challenging yourself!” He pulled the gun out of Erik’s hands. “Whatever happened to the man that was trying to raise a submarine?”

“I can’t. Something that big? I need the situation. The anger.”

“The anger’s not enough.” 

The air went cold. Not enough? Shaw’s words echoed in his mind. It was all he had, _ pain and anger. _If that wasn't enough, nothing was. Charles was never used to the fury that Erik had known his whole life. He wouldn’t understand its power, both the power Erik had over it, and the power it had over him. 

“It’s gotten the job done all this time,” Erik muttered.

“It’s nearly gotten you _ killed _ all this time.” 

Charles stared at Erik with his widened, blue eyes, almost as if he was pleading. He paused, looking at the gun, the field, the mansion, all of it. He sighed, giving Erik a small, weary smile.

“Come here.” He pat Erik’s arm, directing him to follow. “Let’s try something more challenging.”

Erik walked toward the edge of the stone handrail, gazing out at an empty field that swayed in the wind. Charles pointed at the satellite across the field, looming against the bright blue sky. He placed the gun down, away from them.

“See that?”

Erik scrutinized the towering structure. He frowned. 

“Try turning it to face us,” Charles encouraged.

Erik raised his hands, fixating on the target. It seemed impossible. He tried anyway.

_ Turn. _He remembered Shaw, the coin, the pain. The rage he felt after losing his mother. He drew from the depths of his soul in order to cling to it, yanking at its core. The metal sang in the distance. Hinges squeaked.

The monument remained static. Erik lowered his hands, out of breath.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” 

There was something in the way Charles watched him, gaze unwavering and warm, that was different from anyone else. It was real. More vivid than many things in Erik’s life, more sincere than the admiration he was used to. He was no weapon, not to Charles. He was so much more.

Erik looked to him, unsure. 

“Mind if I…” Charles held a hand near his head, wiggling his fingers. 

Standing across from that sweeping field, side by side, Erik felt vulnerable. But most of all, he trusted him like he never did before. Startlingly enough, he realized, he was alright with having Charles in his head. So Erik nodded, and Charles closed his eyes.

He wasn’t sure what to expect next. Despite knowing _everything_, as he put it, Erik knew that Charles had limited knowledge of his spirit. His very soul. 

He never expected to fall into a memory. 

The field melted away into something faded and familiar. A haze surrounded him, bright, tugging at his chest. His mother watched with pride as he steadily lit each candle. A glow of warmth. Love. The whisperings surrounding him were unclear, muffled and underwater, but present.

He was home.

He could barely remember the words anymore, not after so many years. But after all that time, he could remember his mother’s voice. The quiet prayers. The songs. The glow of flickering flames. 

The image vanished.

“What did you just do to me?” Erik wiped a tear from the left side of his face, voice embarrassingly mellow.

“I accessed the brightest corner of your mind,” Charles wiped a tear on his right, voice wavering as well. “Thank you, Erik, it’s a beautiful memory.”

“I didn’t know I still had that.”

“There’s more to you than you know,” Charles insisted. “Not just pain and anger, but good too. I felt it.” 

His words resonated, barely shielding the deeper meaning behind them. It was intimate. Something close and tender and too much for Erik to bear. The idea that he could be _more, _that Charles believed in what he could become, was one he hadn’t come across in years. 

_ Love, _ Erik realized, startled. _ He loves you. _ Or, more startling. _ You love him. _

“One day you’ll be powerful,” said Charles, seemingly unaware. “Perhaps even surpass me.”

It was not an admission of fear. It was a fact. It was one of pride. Erik averted his gaze to the satellite. It was hard to look Charles in the eye.

“Try it again?” Charles asked. 

Erik extended his arms. Once more, he turned to the satellite and pulled. 

He thought of his anger, the fury that bubbled beneath the surface of his skin as his mother was shot dead in front of him. He thought of his serenity, lighting candles in secret with the stories of thousands of years ago circling through his mind as prayers were muttered. The proud look in his mother’s eyes. 

Erik could sense Charles' gaze, warm and gentle and encouraging. Erik pulled.

The metal gave. 

The monument bent to his will, straining toward him. Towards the mansion. He could feel the weight beneath his fingers, something larger than life that he would have never been able to move just months ago. 

A grin tugged at his lips. The satellite was facing them. 

Turning to Charles, he lowered his hands and laughed. Charles laughed with him. If this is what Erik could do discovering the root of his abilities, what would he do with practice? With love in his life for the first time in years? 

Charles pat Erik on the back, lingering. Despite the weariness in his eyes and the sweat on his brow, he looked animated. Bright. _ Beautiful._

Erik yearned to stay there forever. To pull him close. 

He should have when he had the chance; before the touch was gone and the moment over. It was too late. 

Charles had drawn away to the source of a noise behind them. 

Moira was calling. The war had begun.

* * *

Cuba was tomorrow. Edging off the anticipation with a game did nothing for the deep pull at Erik’s gut, telling him that it would only become worse. The fireplace crackled against the autumn cold. 

Erik sipped at his drink tentatively, watching as Charles analyzed the chessboard. He was lost in thought, glowing in the warm light. Erik could close the distance between them. Tell him everything. Find comfort on the last night before everything changed.

He said nothing. 

“Cuba, Russia, America,” Charles murmured, moving his queen. “Makes no difference. Shaw’s declared war on mankind, on all of us. He has to be stopped.” 

Erik put his drink down, glancing from the chessboard to Charles. 

“I’m not going to stop Shaw, I’m going to kill him,” Erik said. He pushed his queen forward, taking Charles’ easily. “Do you have that in you to allow that?”

Charles sat up, leaning towards the board and avoiding Erik’s gaze. Allowing or not, Erik would kill Shaw anyway. It had been his goal. It was also the only way to stop a man so powerful. 

_ Are you sure? _Charles’ concerned echo trailed through Erik’s mind. 

“You’ve known all along why I was here, Charles,” Erik continued. “Things have changed. What started as a covert mission, tomorrow, mankind will know that mutants exist. Shaw, us, they won’t differentiate.” 

Charles glanced up at Erik. _ They could embrace us. _

“They’ll fear us,” Erik insisted. “And that fear will turn to hatred.”

“Not if we stop a war,” said Charles, aloud this time. “Not if we can prevent Shaw. Not if we risk our lives doing so.”

“Would they do the same for us?” Erik countered.

Ah, the ever self-sacrificial one. It was a fool’s endeavor, to search for the approval of others in order to gain peace from them. There should be no proving in a battle for equality. There is either acceptance or war, and mankind would always choose war.

“We have it in us to be the better man,” pleaded Charles. 

“We already _are_. We’re the next stage of human evolution, you said it so yourself.”

“No—” 

“Are you really so naive as to think that they wouldn’t fight their own extinction?” Erik hissed, cutting him off. 

His mind reeled. How could someone be so hypocritical in a time like this? When it was clear that mutantkind was only growing, and that if anyone was to take responsibility for their own fear it would be humanity. 

Of course, Charles always had to think he was right. Erik inched forward. “Or is it arrogance?”

“I’m sorry?”

“After tomorrow they’re going to turn on us, and you’re blind to it because you believe they’re all like _ Moira._” 

The woman Charles clearly liked more. The one who Charles was likely to see right after their game. Moira was no threat. She wasn’t all of mankind, either. She would turn like the rest of them.

“And you believe they’re all like Shaw,” said Charles, narrowing his eyes. 

But they were. Using mutants, fearing them, stealing their power for the ‘good’ that they laid out. Treating mutants like _objects and weapons. _Humanity was much worse than Charles believed. 

“Listen to me,” continued Charles, “very carefully my friend.”

He paused, leaning forward and staring back at Erik just as intensely as Erik was staring at him. 

Erik only wished everything could have fallen into place. That Charles would finally realize. That they would forget the whole thing on the last day before the end of the world. 

(That perhaps, if they hadn’t started the conversation, he could have admitted to the bond that had blossomed between them before it fractured. He could have had at least a few more perfect moments before the tide turned.) 

The words that fell from Charles’ lips anyway were not surprising: “Killing Shaw will not bring you peace.” 

The words that fell from Erik’s own were not either: “Peace was never an option.”

It was funny, really, how the evening had started out compared to how it ended. It was funny, really, that after all those years later, Erik found that Charles was _right._

Killing Shaw had brought nothing but pain.

* * *

Erik had never used his ability to lift himself off the ground.

_ It’s all practice, _Charles’ voice echoed in his mind. It was a memory, not as good as the real one. The helmet sat heavy, a crown against his skull, a monument and a clear reminder of that fact. It didn’t matter.

What mattered was the body he lifted mercilessly into the air. What mattered was the coin, now sitting in the void, forever tarnished and forever a symbol of a completed task. Erik cleared his mind.

He took a step off of the submarine. He flew. 

“Today our fighting stops.”

The body fell limply into the sand as Erik floated to the ground. Shaw was gone. The years of oppression seeped away in a single action. Easier than he thought.

“Take off your blinders, brothers and sisters.”

Charles stared at him. In awe. In panic. In disappointment. Even with the helmet on, Erik could sense it. He could see it, deep in the widened blue eyes staring back at him. The rage had overpowered his serenity, this time. 

“The real enemy is out there."

He pointed towards the ships in the distance, rhythms humming and haunting, preparing to command the death they would unleash.

“I feel their guns moving in the water. Their metal targeting us. Americans, Soviets, _ humans, _” he sneered. “United in their fear of the unknown.”

Charles looked betrayed, but Erik had betrayed no one. The humans had betrayed _him_, and if he needed to defend himself then so be it. Fear would win out, even over Charles’ gentle diplomacy. 

“The Neanderthal is running scared my fellow mutants.” He turned to Charles awaiting the answer, hoping and knowing in a bitter swirl. “Go ahead Charles, tell me I’m wrong.”

Charles put two fingers to his temple in a familiar gesture. He paused only for a moment. He stumbled back.

Whatever Charles had seen must have shown him the truth about humanity, about their minds and their ability to destroy. They were lashing back because it was all that they knew how to do. Charles was beginning to shake.

He signaled to Moira. A last resort. She sprinted to the broken skeleton of the Blackbird, digging through the wreckage. Erik couldn’t hear what she was yelling, but it did not matter. 

Moira still returned, panting and fearful. The guns still remained.

Charles watched on with bated breath. Hopeful and hopeless all at once. Beautiful. Gone, just like everything else. Erik was going to die on that beach with Charles by his side. 

Mechanisms churned. _ Ready. Aim. _

_ Fire. _

He sensed as he saw, hundreds of missiles streaking towards them, ready to destroy. They were all going to die, whether they had sided with Shaw or not, whether they were horrible or wonderful or _anything, _it didn’t matter. 

No. He focused on the metal in each. 

Rage, against Shaw, against humanity for turning on him. Serenity, with Charles at his side. Even against the world, Charles was still there. Steadfast. 

He stretched his hand out. He pulled. 

Every missile in the sky stilled.

The air filled with the stinging scent of iron, with electricity burning. The missiles weighed down, but they stayed suspended. Frozen, just as Charles had frozen Shaw. Charles’ lips twitched. He almost looked pleased, proud even. Erik had a decision to make. 

Humans. Did they deserve mercy? When they had another volley ready to attack? When their first response was fire?

He turned his grip. The missiles spun until they faced the enemy, ready to retaliate. It was no vengeance. It was defense before the worst could happen. 

“Erik you said so yourself, we’re the better men,” Charles reasoned. “Now is the time to prove it.”

Erik refused to let go.

“There are thousands of men on those ships, good, honest, innocent men,” Charles pleaded, voice quivering, maddening, desperate. "_They’re just following orders.”_

Erik felt something twist inside of him. "I’ve been at the mercy of men just following orders."

It made them no morally better. Fear builds hate builds power, which only rebirths itself once more. Every generation, every balance, every tier, they were all the same. They were all at fault for the eventual destruction. 

They had shot first.

Erik glanced to Charles, little mercy left in his gaze. “Never again.”

The missiles flew forward. Harbingers of death. Hundreds of songs that only Erik could hear as they howled through the air. The ships lay dormant in the bay, awaiting their fate. Charles stood, paralyzed, watching, waiting, as each soul was snuffed out. 

Erik assumed that Charles wouldn’t stop him. He assumed he was too shocked. Afraid.

He never expected for Charles to lunge forward, pushing him over into the sand. 

Erik slipped, losing his grip on the missiles until they began to fall. It was chaos. Burning. Hands reaching for the helm. Charles, baring down. Erik, pushing him away. It almost seemed juvenile without the use of their abilities. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Erik whipped around, elbowing Charles in the nose, “don’t make me!” 

A commotion rose around him. Alex, Sean, Hank, _ Raven_, all four of them ran towards him, finally realizing what he was going to do. He rose once more.

“Stand back!” Erik barked. 

He flung them away, all but Raven, _ too young, Charles’ sister, someone to protect. _Out of all of them, she knew the least. He felt a swell of something. Regret? No. He never regretted. 

Hands reached for him, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“Erik, stop!” Charles shouted. He grappled for the helmet, now pinned beneath him. 

_ He’s going to use you, _ supplied Erik’s mind, more vivid than ever. _ He’s going to go into your head, and there’s no telling what he’ll do. _

Erik swung a punch at Charles’ face. He shouldn’t have.

Even when Charles relented, clutching at his wound, his gaze marked a bitterness Erik had never seen before. A pain that he couldn’t understand. All he could do was turn away, ignoring the tug at his chest. 

All he could do was aim and fire. 

The men on the ships were the first of many. The first to strike without knowing, to fear without understanding. They never would. It had to end this way. Even as tears threatened his stinging eyes, even as he felt his throat constrict. He dared not close his eyes. 

It would be over soon. They could go home, a place where mutants were free to be who they were meant to be. Hope, Erik realized, was what he was clinging to. Something he hadn’t known in years. Something Charles had brought with him, just as Erik had brought to Charles' ambition.

They would start something beautiful together. 

A bullet whizzed off the helmet. 

Erik spun around. Fury burrowed its way into his bones. There was no immediate future like that. Not unless he fought. Not unless the war was won.

He focused on Agent MacTaggert as she pulled the trigger again. He held out a hand, confident, surging with power, and deflected. The bullet bounced off of the sand. His anger grew. 

He deflected. He approached. He deflected. He approached. The success almost made him giddy. He had grown so powerful, accomplished so much. In his war against mankind, he was finally winning. 

He swung his arm out. He_ missed._

Then came the screaming.

Missiles screamed through the air only to fall into the water. Charles screamed only to fall onto the sand. Erik screamed something he could barely understand. He lost control. He ran to Charles’ side. 

Erik had no idea who first made the guttural sound, but it would not stop. 

_ I’msosorryimsorrycharlespleasedon’tdie— _The thoughts meant nothing, not with the helmet on. 

The world spun out of control, out of motion, into motion. His vision was blurring. He grasped Charles, gentle yet firm, clinging as though his life would cling back if he held on tight enough. 

He could feel the bullet, imbedded in Charles’ back. He tugged. The metal hit his palm, weighing nothing, meaning everything.

He never thought he’d hold him like this. At the edge of life and death.

“I’m so sorry—” 

The first class rushed forward. Erik had no time. No time for them, their talks, anything. They would destroy it all, they would take him away.

“I said back off!” Erik shouted.

Still, someone came. His gaze shifted up to the approaching figure. _ Her, _Of all people. Crying. Broken. No matter how guilty she looked, she was a traitor, she hurt Charles. Something in Erik snapped.

“You,” he growled, his every instinct sharpening. “You did this.”

He closed his fist, wrapping around the chain on her neck and tightening. Moira struggled under his grip, heart pounding against the metal. She deserved it. She could have _killed _him, she— 

“Erik please,” Charles finally rasped out. 

Erik felt cold seep into his bones once more. The pull at his chest crushed at his ribs, his lungs, his heart. 

“She didn’t do this, Erik,” murmured Charles. “You did.”

Moira fell to the ground, clutching at her throat. Breathing once more. Erik forced himself to look down. To see Charles, fallen.

_You did. _It was written in the furrow of his brow, the tire in his eyes. It was true. 

Erik refused to believe it. 

“Us turning on each other,” he said. “It’s what they want.” 

“Erik,” Charles muttered weakly. 

“I tried to _ warn you, _Charles.”

Charles stared back at him. Hopeless. Tired. Unafraid. He had not given up on the cause, he had given up on Erik.

“I want you by my side,” Erik continued, voice barely above a whisper. He felt too bold to say it. “We’re brothers, you and I. All of us. Together. We want the same thing.” 

It was the truth and it was a lie. Erik wanted more. He always wanted more. 

Every second that slipped away was an hour. Every moment that slipped away was one he would never be able to take back. Staring into tearful eyes that reflected the endless blue of the sky, he found himself paralyzed. 

“Oh, my friend,” Charles let out a small echo of a laugh. A parody. A cruel, bitter replacement. 

Erik couldn’t pray to a god that had abandoned him decades ago. He couldn’t pull Charles from the brink of death, just as Charles had done for him. 

Erik knew the answer before the words arrived.

“We do not.” Charles smiled ruefully.

_ Let me go. _It was unsaid, unthought, but Erik knew.

Erik loved him. Since the beginning, in the water, when he found that he wasn’t alone. Even at the end, on the beach, the sun beating down and the current dragging across the sand. 

Unlike then, however, he finally understood. He wasn’t alone, but he was always meant to be. 

So Erik let him go. 

**Author's Note:**

> I might have made Erik a bit of an atheist?? (Agnostic?) this doesn’t make him any less Jewish mind you, but considering the things he’s been through I’d be surprised if he still believed in God. (As someone who is also agnostic and Jewish I thought it’d be an interesting concept)
> 
> Other notes: I have an interlude for the recruiting montage in which they go to a gay bar. It was cut for time, but I’ll be posting it as a separate series thing.  
-fgh


End file.
